


like lighters in the dark in the middle of a rock show

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Real Person Fiction, Vampire Diaries RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: You know it's been a dry spell when you're four weeks into a new season and you're hoping your next script will have a make-out scene for you and your girlfriend.





	like lighters in the dark in the middle of a rock show

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Every story I wrote about NIan was written between December 2010 and January 2014. These are old and hold no bearing on how things actually were, are, or will be. I know Ian is married now, and I am not trying to be disrespectful. For all these years, I kept these stories locked on LiveJournal and protected, and it just occurred to me that these are just stories, and these are as much characters as any of the other fanfic I've ever written. It also represents a lot of my creative time and energy and I'm proud of these stories. So I'm posting them now, with the intent that others might enjoy them.

_July 2012_  
  
You know it's been a dry spell when you're four weeks into a new season and you're hoping your next script will have a make-out scene for you and your girlfriend.  
  
Ian's sure Damon and Elena are going to go at it at some point, and the way he's feeling lately, sooner rather than later would be good. Work is crazy, work is  _work_. They know this, they are used to it; that doesn't mean that 50 to 60 hour weeks, this shoot, that shoot, this Con, that Con don't suck up your time, and suddenly, you haven't had sex with your girlfriend in weeks.  
  
So that first Friday when he's just driving home, and there are no early morning flights to catch and nothing to worry about, he calls Nina to see what the plan is for dinner. She answers the phone with a laugh and he can't help but ask when he hears background noise, "What's that?"  
  
"Oh, just the gang," she says breezily. "It's the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics! I invited everyone over!"  
  
He finds out she wants him to pick up some wine and cheese (no, really) on his way and be prepared to entertain eight of their closest friends and co-workers. He disconnects his phone and says, "FUCK!" really loud. Because yeah, he's so not getting laid tonight.  
  
  
  
  
  
_September 2009_  
  
Nina threw herself down on the sofa, beer in hand. "Sara, it's awful. I mean, I'm supposed to be terrified of him, right? Damon might eat Elena, but I look at Ian's face and fantasies of licking whip cream off his chest pop into my head, and I'm basically done for. No one will ever believe, looking at dailies, that I'm scared of him. They will know, however, that I'd like him to fuck me against the wall!"  
  
Her roommate laughed, leaning over to clink the neck of her beer bottle against Nina's. "Well, that's what we're all thinking, so if they get something else from our performances, we all deserve Emmys!"  
  
They both lose it then, laughing hysterically for several minutes. It was a joke on-set amongst most of the women, and Nina supposed Ian created that kind of chaos wherever he went. When she finally got control of her laughter, she sat up on the couch and looked earnestly at her TV aunt. "He's so gorgeous. And amazing. And I just...ugh,  _want. to. lick. him._  And I've never, in my whole life been so jealous of another girl ever. I just..."  
  
Sara's expression grew sober, and she nodded her head in understanding. "I know. But trust me, it happens to everybody. You just have to figure out how to navigate it. The feelings will pass eventually, and you'll just be able to look at him like anyone else. Just wait, you'll see."  
  
Nina took a swallow of beer and prayed that was true.  
  
  
  
  
  
_July 2012_  
  
When he gets home, she's already got a nice spread on the coffee table and everyone's sitting around talking with the TV quietly humming in the background; the show has apparently not started yet. Obviously Ian was the only one who had ADR this afternoon, so he's the last one to arrive.  
  
It's not that he doesn't love having their friends over. He was just looking forward to a quiet evening, just the two of them. It's been a while, and he'd completely forgotten about the Olympics.  
  
Nina greets him at the door with a sweet little kiss and then she pulls the wine from his hand and goes into the kitchen to find a corkscrew.  
  
He follows her, with only one thought in his head.   
  
Their guests can't exactly see them once they're around the corner and as she stands in front of the counter and attaches the corkscrew to the top of the wine bottle, he eases himself up behind her, nuzzling her neck and pressing himself into the cleft of her buttocks. She's wearing little summer shorts and a tank top, so there's plenty of skin for his lips and fingers to caress. He trails his thumb over her shoulder and down the back of her left arm.  
  
She presses back against him instantly, which only makes his situation more dire, because he starts getting hard just from that. He whispers in her ear, "I thought we'd be alone tonight." Sliding his other hand under her shirt, he cups a breast and strums a nipple through the lace of her bra, which causes her to drop the corkscrew.  
  
"Ian," she whines, elbowing him gently. "We have company. I told you, I'm obsessed with the Summer Olympics. What were you expecting?"  
  
He grabs the sensitive tendon in her neck gently with his teeth. She shudders against him and he breathes, "I want you," into her skin. "I was expecting you, alone, naked,  _in bed_." He's got her breast out of the cup of her bra now and his thumb and forefinger are focused on the hard little pebble of her nipple as her head falls back against his shoulder.  
  
"We have company," she says again, only now he can hear the breathy regret in her voice. Which is all he really wanted anyway.  
  
He fixes her bra and rubs himself against her one last time before letting her go. "Don't blame me," he teases. "You invited them."  
  
He slaps her ass, she huffs in irritation, and as he locates the cheese slicer, she mutters things under her breath about what a terrible, awful man he is.  
  
  
  
  
  
_October 2009_  
  
She looked at herself in her dressing room mirror and even though her make-up was already destroyed and in much need of reapplication, she couldn't stop crying. Cursing out loud, she slammed her hand down on the sink counter.  
  
A moment later, there was a rhythmic knock on her door and Ian called out, "You decent?" as he let himself in because nudity didn't bother him, his or anyone else's, even if Nina got heart palpitations every time he walked around set half-naked. As their eyes met in the mirror, his expression changed from light-hearted to concerned in the blink of an eye. "Babe, what's the matter?"  
  
She closed her eyes and tried to get a grip, but this was the problem;  _he_  was the problem—all the things about him, like the fact that he had started calling her  _babe_  almost immediately after they met, which had created this sense of intimacy between them that Nina could not separate her emotions from. She was standing there crying because when she'd had to shoot some emotional scenes with Paul earlier, the personal thing she used to draw on that would make her cry at just the right moment had been her unrequited feelings for Ian. Not  _Elena's_  feelings about finding out she was adopted, but her own feelings for this guy she couldn't escape since she had to spend 16 hours a day with him. (HE HAD A GIRLFRIEND! she reminded herself at least fifty times a day, to no avail.)  
  
And now, she could not quit crying, even though it was time for Elena to head out on a road trip with Damon. This was the problem with shooting out of order, obviously.  
  
He came in the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. Then he gathered her into his arms, holding her close and stroking her hair until she calmed down. Pressing her face into his chest, she just let him take care of her, because he was so damn good at it. It was totally ironic, how he could actually be both the cause and the cure. After several minutes, he asked quietly, "You okay?"  
  
Lifting her head, she stepped back and nodded her head. His fingers grabbed at her chin, holding her face still for his inspection. "Look up," he instructed; he dabbed under her eyes with his fingers, wiping away excess mascara. "Have the girls retouch you a bit, and then we'll be good to go." He waited a beat until she looked back at him. "You want to talk about it?" he asked.  
  
She shook her head emphatically no, but grabbed at his hand as he dropped his arm down. "Thank you, Ian," she said softly.  
  
"Any time," he replied. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering just a moment. "If you're sure you're done, we better go."  
  
Nina knew she was far from done, but there was nothing to do but follow him.  
  
  
  
  
  
_July 2012_  
  
She sits on his lap while everyone oohs and ahhs over the stuff on their television screen. Well, not everyone. Mostly the girls. The guys look mildly interested, and most of them beg off before the end. They've all had a long week, and the Parade of Nations is, well, a parade.  
  
(Parades are boring, duh. Especially when you just want to bone your girlfriend.)  
  
Ian knows she's completely aware of his semi-aroused state because she squirms against him occasionally and trails her fingers over his arm in a small caress that encourages it, even though she apparently has no intention of sending these people home any time soon. Candice is sitting right next to them on the sofa, too, and he thinks of embarrassing them all a hundred times to get them to leave, but he manages to hold on to his gentlemanly inclinations.  
  
(Paybacks are a bitch. He's letting Nina get in a few so that she will pay up when the time comes.  _Oh, god._  Just thinking the word makes his frustration reach an all new high.)  
  
He smooths his fingers over her legs, slipping a hand between her thighs occasionally, since she's sitting crossways over his. She pretends she doesn't notice his touches, and it becomes a game, a battle of wills, because when she leans forward to grab a piece of cheese and a cracker she's all but dry-humping him right there. In retaliation, he reaches around her to help himself to a carrot stick and makes sure his arm brushes over her breasts.  
  
Her cheeks flush, and remain that way, and he gets harder and harder as the night progresses. She pinches him at one point, sliding her hand between her legs to get him on the inside of his right thigh. When she does that, he bides his time and very carefully returns the pinch, when Candice gets up to use the restroom. His hand snakes up her shorts leg to find her clitoris through her underwear without a problem. (He's quite familiar with it, for one thing.) She gasps and everyone looks over at them, Kat and Claire from their positions on the floor in front of the television and Joseph, the last guy remaining, besides Ian, of course, from the overstuffed chair on the other side of the sofa.  
  
"What?" Nina deadpans. "Did you see that guy's hat? Where is..." She squints hard at the television. "...Eritrea, anyway?"  
  
"It's in Africa," Ian answers, which causes her to reach up and pinch the inside of his arm this time, though she still never looks at him.  
  
"Shut up, smartie pants," Kat says with a laugh, and when Candice comes back, Ian keeps his hands firmly planted, one on Nina's knee, the other at the small of her back.  
  
Joseph leaves fifteen minutes later, and when Ian whispers in Nina's ear, "We aren't even to 'M' yet, how long is this thing?" she turns on him, but before she unleashes her annoyance, he kisses her.  
  
Like  _kisses_  her.   
  
And she totally kisses him back.  
  
"Uh, would you like us to leave?" Candice asks, laughing. He's still got his eyes closed and his tongue in Nina's mouth when Kat and Claire start woot-wooting.  
  
He pulls back, and Nina stares into his eyes but answers her friend by saying, "Yes, please."  
  
  
  
  
  
_December 2009_  
  
Nina told herself she would have done this for any of them, and it was true. She would make a cake for any of her castmates' birthdays. (She would at least order a cake from a bakery. She might not stay up half the night trying to figure out how to make one from scratch that was gluten free. But it was Ian's birthday.)  
  
(And she was in love with him, even if she knew it was never going to happen.)  
  
She watched him slink out of the restaurant, and Meghan followed soon after. She tried not to let herself imagine them fucking in the alley, but her mother didn't call her the most optimistic masochist she'd ever met for no reason. She forced her mind to focus on the story Julie was telling everyone about Michael's audition for Damon that proved he was perfect to play Tyler.  
  
She actually managed to forget for about five minutes and then Ian turned back up, telling everyone he loved them and the gifts they'd given him, but he needed to get home. She could see that he was stressed over Meghan being there, and she was sure it was because he didn't have the energy for a surprise visit in the middle of the week, even if it was for his birthday. If it had been Nina, she would have turned up on the weekend, just in time for a marathon of sex and and an extension of birthday frivolity.  
  
(Not that she spent a lot of time imagining what she'd do if she were Ian's girlfriend, or anything.)  
  
As he headed for the coat room, Nina grabbed the bag of gifts that they'd piled into a giant tote for easy transport. Setting the bag down on the floor, she gave him a hug once he got his jacket on. He smelled of cigarette smoke and a hint of perfume, but no sex, and she reveled in that, at least for the moment. Certainly the reason he was leaving the party earlier than everyone else, when normally he was the one to shut a place down, was so he could go have sex with his girlfriend. Who he rarely saw. Because she lived in New York.  
  
(See? Masochist.)  
  
"Happy birthday, again," she said, a laugh escaping her as he squeezed her tight to his chest and groaned out a  _Mmmmm-hmmmm_ sound of pleasure. Slapping his back hard with her fist, she said bossily, "Be sure to call your mother and thank her for me. I'm glad she went through all that so I could know you."  
  
"Thanks for the cake, babe," he said, letting her go.   
  
She leaned her head back to smile hugely, because girlfriend or not, she had made a cake that was delicious and it took precious hours out of her sleep time. In the end it was totally worth it because he was so grateful. As his arm pulled away from her, her hair went with it, and pain radiated from the back of her head. "Ow, ow, ow," she whimpered, but then she realized she was caught in his watch band. They both started laughing, and carefully Nina turned her left shoulder into his chest so he had a good view of the tangled mess.  
  
"Hold still," he cautioned, which made her wrap her hands around his arm to keep him from pulling too hard. "Don't hurt me!" she whined, because he really couldn't help but hurt her a little.  
  
When he finally got himself free, her fingers slid down his arm to his wrist, and the face of his watch caught her eye. "Oh, eleven-eleven," she commented. "Make a wish."  
  
She glanced up at him when he asked, "What?" The intent way he was looking at her caused her breath to seize up in her lungs a little. Turning his wrist towards him so he could see the numbers, she explained, "It's 11:11. That's lucky. Haven't you ever heard that before?"  
  
He paused for a long moment, just staring at her, and Nina suddenly knew what a terrible idea this was. The cake, the party, her here like this with him. She didn't have to do this to herself, and yet she kept torturing herself anyway. "No..." he finally responded. "No, I haven't ever heard that."  
  
The part of her brain that was still functioning normally couldn't believe he'd never heard of that, but the other part, the part that was too aware of how close together they were, and of how much she wanted to press him back into the coats hanging behind him until they disappeared from view was the part that commanded all of her attention. She felt her face grow hot, and she cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the sick feeling filling her chest.  _Just get out of here, just end it._  "You're welcome. For the cake." She paused and then the words jumped out of her mouth, "Have fun with Meghan."  
  
He blinked, breaking the connection between their gazes. "I will," he said quickly. "See you tomorrow."  
  
He moved away from her, grabbing his bag of presents, and Nina forced herself not to watch him go. She made a beeline back to the rest of their group and managed to drink herself silly before Sara dragged her home.  
  
The next day she unhappily avoided him since they didn't have scenes together, and resolved to stop putting herself in a position to get hurt over and over.  
  
  
  
  
_July 2012_  
  
The moment their guests are out the door, Ian spins her around and plasters her against it, using his hips and his mouth to hold her in place. He's so hard he could drive nails through a wall and he's not going to let her tease him anymore.  
  
Except that she's already pushing his shirt up over his head, and whimpering in a way that proves she was just as anxious for their friends to get the fuck out of their house as he was. He kisses her mouth, gets lost in the smell and feel of her, but as he lifts his head, a moment of clarity strikes him.  
  
Sometimes the best part is the teasing.  
  
So he slows it down, quelling his own lust to drive her a little crazy. Rubbing his lips over hers gently, he lets his hands delve into the waistband of her shorts, and when she bucks up against him, he rotates his hips into hers very deliberately, bending his knees to get her just right.  
  
She gasps his name, her eyes dark and endless, her lips parted and her head thrown back. Nina is beautiful, but never more so than at these moments, moments he wishes he could photograph, but pulling out the iPhone now would totally kill the mood. He settles down on his knees in front her, drawing her shorts and panties with him as he goes. Her legs are amazing, long, lean, firmly muscled, and he still has moments when watching her walk away from him is as big a turn on as just about anything else she does. Mental pictures being what they are, he has her from every angle on a rotating basis, always,  _always_  in his mind.  
  
He runs a hand behind her left knee, whisking the pads of his fingers over her skin in a caress that ends at her calf. Cupping it gently in his palm, he looks up at her as he pulls her leg up onto his shoulder. "Remember the first time I got you off?" he asks, leaning in and blowing a breath against the pink flesh that peeks out at him.  
  
Nina's eyes close and she whimpers again, a mewling little  _yes_  that takes him back a couple of years.  
  
  
  
  
  
_January 2010_  
  
They were back on set for three days following their Christmas holidays when Ian came tearing into her dressing room without knocking at all. He looked pissed, and she just gaped at him because she was standing in her underwear, getting ready to put on Elena's clothes for the day.  
  
"Are you mad at me about something?" he demanded as Nina squealed his name and lunged for her robe, which was draped over the corner of the sofa.  
  
"Get out!" she shouted. "I'm naked!"  
  
"You're not naked, trust me. Answer the question."  
  
She turned her back on him and wrapped herself in the robe before saying, "Of course, I'm not mad at you. Why would you even think that?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "Maybe it's the not talking to me,  _unless someone forces you to_ , or only if you're Elena that tipped me off? It was like this before Christmas, but I figured whatever burr you had up your ass you'd get over during vacation. Apparently not."  
  
Nina faced him, cinching her robe closed as their eyes met. She honestly hadn't thought he'd noticed. She missed him like crazy, but she just kept telling herself it was for the best, and that it didn't matter to him anyway.  
  
She had not planned a contingency for confrontation; she was completely at a loss, and as she fumbled with what to say, Ian eliminated the space between them. "What it is?" he asked, his voice soft, all the anger seemingly draining away. "Just tell me what I did."  
  
"Oh, Ian," she said, shaking her head. "You didn't do anything, I swear. I've just been going through something—I just, I'm sorry. I've just been in my head, you know? Not really focused outward. I'm sorry."  
  
"You can talk to me, you know," he said earnestly. "I've been told I'm a great listener. You even said that once, remember the night we stayed up until dawn talking? We—"  
  
"Look," Nina interrupted, and though she knew she would regret it, because the level of awkwardness between them hadn't even reached epic proportions yet. She just had to tell him the truth, otherwise he'd be in here every day trying to help her sort out her problems. "It's nothing you can help with, okay? It's something I've got to deal with on my own."  
  
"Nina—"  
  
"You're my problem," she blurted, and the moment of stunned silence that stretched out grew so painful, she had to wrap her arms around herself to keep it together. "No," she corrected herself as the seconds ticked away. "That's not right, either. My problem is me, my problem is how I feel about you, my problem is that I'm probably falling in love with you, and that's not a good idea, for about a million reas—"  
  
She would probably have babbled on indefinitely, but his lips stopped the words when they captured hers in a kiss she didn't see coming. She had kissed Ian a few times as part of her job, but that in no way prepared her for this. It was in that moment that she understood they really had been stage kisses, because this? This was altogether different.  
  
In every way.   
  
His arms surrounded her, pressing her body full-length to his, and when she felt him, felt his arousal, she suddenly realized what was happening. That it was happening to  _both_  of them, that she was not the only one attracted in this equation. And once she crossed over and understood?  
  
All hell broke loose.  
  
There was something behind her, maybe the vanity? Because hairbrushes, her iPod, her phone, and who knew what else, all crashed to the floor as Ian searched for a hard, flat surface. In a dizzying blur, his arm wrapped hard around her waist and their legs tangled together, they somehow ended up back on the other side of the small room, with the doorknob gouging into her back momentarily until he managed to press her firmly to the left of it.  
  
The kiss became two, and three, and more. Somewhere along the way she felt his hands in her hair, then down her neck and over her shoulders, tugging the robe belt free, palms opened wide against her stomach and hip bones. Nina knew, knew she should stop it, but there was no logic here, no way to find firm footing and do the right thing. She'd never been to this place before, to the edge of something that called to her like a siren song, that made her feel as if there were no other possibility. Just Ian, just his hands, just his lips, on her mouth, down her throat, pushing aside her bra strap, and then a sharp cry—hers—pierced the air between them when his tongue found her nipple.  
  
"Oh,  _god_ ," she breathed. She could feel his hair under her hands, but she had no memory of her fingers grabbing for him.  
  
He pushed her robe all the way open and their eyes met as he knelt before her. He never looked away as he tugged her cotton panties down, but when his fingers dipped between her legs, her hands clenched, pulling his hair, yanking his head back slightly. His eyes widened, those beautiful, beautiful eyes that she had long imagined looking at her so hotly, and she could see the question—what he wanted to do, what caused her to quiver at just the thought.   
  
She lifted her hands in surrender, and pushed all thought of right and wrong from her mind. When his mouth settled over her mere seconds later, his tongue swirling expertly, she couldn't remember anything, including her own name.  
  
What she would never forget, though, was the way his hands found hers, and very carefully pulled them back to his head. His own hands grabbed at her thighs, widening his venue, and when she lifted up against him, cries tearing from her throat, he pushed two fingers inside her. It was either that, or the vibration of his groan that put her over the edge, and she shuddered under him, her hands holding him firmly against her, his hair ridiculously soft between her fingers.   
  
It all happened so fast, she could hardly think and then a hard knock came on the door, someone calling them for their first scene, jarring her right back to reality.  
  
She looked down in time to see him wipe his chin with the base of his hand, and then carefully get to his feet. He limped backwards a bit, smiling sheepishly. "I've got a bad knee," he said, gesturing at his leg as he straightened it out.  
  
Nina burst into laughter.  
  
  
  
  
  
_July 2012_  
  
Truth be told, he loves to eat her out. Sometimes he forgets, in the frenzy of needing his own release, but then he remembers the sensation of her hands in his hair, holding him to her. And when he conjures the sounds up in his mind that she makes when his tongue strums her clitoris? Yeah, there's nothing better than that, not even his own orgasm.  
  
Nina, needy and panting his name is pretty much  _the_  thing. There's nothing better than that, nothing he can ever accomplish that makes him feel like more of a man. Making her come is his job, or at least one of them, and he takes it seriously.  
  
Besides, a well-loved woman makes a man pretty damn happy, in every way.  
  
She moans, her breath hitching, and he knows she's almost there. He pulls back and a sound of disappointment bounces off the ceiling. He undoes his pants quickly and stands up, shoving himself inside her before she can formulate words in a real protest.   
  
It grows quiet then, just for a moment, and her eyes open. He's still holding her leg up, but her arms circle his neck and her mouth finds his, soft and sweet, a chaste kiss in the middle of a whirlwind. "I love you," she murmurs.  
  
She said it first, then, too. The first time. When he wasn't exactly available, but nothing could keep them apart. It's funny how very little has changed since then. Oh, it might be deeper and wider and incalculable, but this, how they are together, how they can never get enough, how they shine brighter because of each other, that's how it was right from the beginning.  
  
It was why they couldn't ignore it, why they couldn't be apart, why now it feels like it's always been this way. Ian and Nina, a matched set.  
  
"I love you," he replies just as her tongue darts out to caress his bottom lip, effectively ending the calm.  
  
A few moments later they burst into the light together, holding each other tightly the whole time.

**Author's Note:**

> One of the scenes in the 2009 stuff is the Nina POV of an Ian scene from _A Memory in the Making_ , just in case it feels familiar to anyone. Also, the title is stolen from Jake Owen's "Barefoot, Blue Jean Night."


End file.
